


don't worry, put me through it (my heart is made of steel)

by snitches_get_stitches



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anxiety, Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-16 21:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3503987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snitches_get_stitches/pseuds/snitches_get_stitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler hardly ever cries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one: click, bang

**Author's Note:**

> kind of an au, where i think ty probably dabbled a little in music but never started 21p. also, sorry if this seems a little rushed/un-beta-ed, i literally wrote it all at once. i can't believe i jsut wrote the longest fic in my arsenal in one sitting.
> 
> title taken from "the baddest girl" by pentatonix
> 
> ***disclaimer: i know absolutely zip about tyler’s parents other than that he loves them very much and vice versa, so this wasn’t meant to be an attack on them at all. i know they’re great people. but i just needed to write about something i know about and can relate to. i've never been in an abusive relationship, and i'm reluctant to label my own parents as "abusive", but i know i don't want to be to my kids what my mom was to me. just because it might not be technically "abuse" doesn't mean it can't hurt or fuck you up for good.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you don't deserve us_ , his brain supplies harshly. his mother never hears.

Tyler doesn’t remember the first time his parents yelled at him. He doesn’t remember the first time he cried because of something they did, or when he first learned to stop and that crying was bad because that only got him yelled at more. He doesn’t remember when Zackie and Maddie and Jay and him stopped tattling on each other because they hated seeing each other pay the price. All he knows is that by the time he started going to public school, he’d become a very, very good liar, and very, very good at taking care of messes himself. 

(Breaking a wine glass while cleaning dishes meant carefully picking up every piece of glass and burying them thoroughly deep in the garbage, and shrugging his shoulders when his parents  _ swore  _ they had another one of them, somewhere. He’d always been afraid his parents would notice the tension in his shoulders, or the overly casual tone of his voice when he lied through his teeth about having no clue where it went, but they never did. He would be on edge for days until they finally took the garbage out.)

( _ They’ll find out. They’ll find out. They always do. _ )

 

He’s at a casual friend’s house when they tentatively bring soda and chips into the living room (“Are you sure this is okay? Your mom doesn’t mind?” “Nah, not as long as we don’t make a mess.” “Okay….”) and, rather predictably, spill the carbonated drink all over the carpet. Or, at least, Derek does, while Tyler stands in horror, cradling his own food carefully to his chest. 

“Shit,” Derek goes, still holding the just-opened Pepsi can in one hand, seeming unsure what to do with it. and then yells out, “Uh, Mom?”

And Tyler’s immediately on alert--immediately knows that  _ Mom  _ and a deep stain in the carpet can only mean trouble, and is preparing himself for Derek’s mom to begin railing at her son while Tyler stands awkwardly on the sidelines, fingers wringing in his shirt as his friend mumbles apology after apology. He’s seen this enough, with his siblings, often enough that it’s a familiar routine in his head--he’ll remain stoic until she leaves the room, and then he can finally move forward to comfort his friend and clean the stain up with him in a tense silence, focused solely on the simple task until they’re finished and the floor is spotless. Tyler will likely retire home early, too--maybe give his mom some bullshit excuse about how Derek wasn’t feeling good, just so she doesn’t have a reason to rail on his friends, too.

“Yeah?” Derek’s mom calls from the kitchen, and then pokes her head in. Tyler is tensing up already, fingers furling in his shirt and eyes ducking down to avoid soon-to-be-angry ones. The worst part is always watching. “What’s up?”

And Tyler’s trying to suppress the urge to stutter out a quick lie and take care of the stain himself--and he has a brief moment of confusion when he thinks, wait, Derek  _ voluntarily _ called her over, he must have some kind of death wish--but Tyler knows any mom would be able to sniff it out and spot the stain too soon after and they’d be in deeper shit than they already were. It was best to just keep his mouth shut, like always.

“Do we have carpet cleaner anywhere? My drink kind of, uh, exploded when I opened it just now.”

And here’s the part where Tyler’s expecting an outraged tone and a raised voice, a disapproving glare--but he instead gets a quiet tut and a shake of her head, but--she’s smiling? “De _ rek _ ,” she sighs, as if this has happened a million times before.

“It’s not that bad! I can clean it up real quick if you tell me where the cleaner is” Derek assures, and Tyler is struggling to keep up with the sudden shift of events. He’s still tense, expecting the yelling that hasn’t come yet, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. This is entirely unfamiliar territory.

Derek’s mom only laughs, and Tyler thinks he’s dreaming. Maybe. “Oh, jeez… it’s in the closet by your dad’s office, top shelf. And hey--you keep this up, you won’t be bringing any food into the family room anymore, got it?”

Derek’s only nodding enthusiastically, not even bothering to give a vocal affirmative, before dashing off down the hallway to where Tyler presumes his dad’s office is, leaving Tyler standing awkwardly in the center of his friend’s living room, an unopened Sprite and a bag of Lay’s in his arms. He’s staring at the stain with wide eyes, and he honestly feels like he must have fallen asleep somewhere between Derek spilling his drink and his mom popping her head into the doorway, because there’s no way that just happened.

“Hey--Tyler, right? You okay, honey? You look like something spooked you or something.”

Her voice startles him, and he flinches, but he immediately relaxes when he looks up and the expression on her face isn’t an angry one, but rather mildly concerned. It takes him another moment to realize she asked a question, and he shakes his head awake, stumbling over his answer. 

“Yes! I mean, no, yeah, I’m fine, I’m just. Trying to catch up with what just happened.” He laughs awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m--usually that--nevermind. Yeah, just--nevermind. I’m fine. Sorry.” He can feel himself blushing, now that the danger has been cleared and the embarrassment can properly set in.

Derek’s mom is looking at him sweetly. “You worry too much, honey. When you’re over here, you can relax, okay? Don’t worry about a dumb little stain.”

“Yeah,” he says, and Derek comes flying back into the living room with a spray cleaner and paper towels in hand, all embarrassed grins and flailing arms, “Okay, that--Thank you. Thank you.”

 

 

The next time his own mother raises her voice at Tyler, it’s apparently because his dinner conversation with Maddie was too loud, and the angry white man on Fox News was more important and worth listening to than her own children.

It’s the first time, as Tyler clamps his mouth shut and sees Maddie do the same, that he feels angry about it, and the handle of his fork stings where he grips it tightly and presses it into his palm.

_ You don’t deserve us,  _ he mind supplies viciously. His mom doesn’t hear.

 

 

Tyler doesn’t cry. Not in front of his parents, at least.

So when he loses his house keys  _ again _ , and his mom completely loses it, railing at him as spittle flies from her mouth and her eyes drill holes into his own, he can’t explain for the life of him why he suddenly bursts into tears.

And they’re not that cute, silent type, either--they’re ugly, fat tears, mixing with snot as he’s wipes desperately at his face, trying in vain to stem the flow of the liquid, but the dam has already been opened. He’s suddenly just  _ bawling _ , hiccuping in-between shallow breaths, and stuttering out weak apologies as he tries to get a grip on himself, but his body is almost completely out of his control.

“Why are you crying?” his mom breaks in, sharply, and Tyler can’t make himself make eye contact with her.

“I don’t  _ know _ , I swear--oh God, I’m so sorry Mom, I don’t know why I’m--I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, just let me, try to, God,” but he doesn’t get much farther than that, because he’s being wracked with sobs all over again, and he literally has zero control over the irregular staccato rhythm of his own breaths, and it’s a struggle just to get enough oxygen in for the next shuddering sob his body forcibly pulls out of his chest.

“You can’t just cry every time someone tells you something that isn’t glowing praise, Tyler,” and Tyler shrinks away from her, crying harder, oh  _ god _ , he can’t stop, this is a disaster-- “Jesus, Tyler, I don’t know how you’re ever going to make it in the real world. You can’t just expect to be babied all the time.”

Tyler’s nodding in agreement to her before he even realizes what she’s trying to say, “I know, mama, I know, I’m being dumb, I’m sorry, I  just--”

“Well then quit apologizing and  _ do it _ ,” she damn near  _ screams _ , and what happens next is Tyler’s knee-jerk reaction.

“I’m  _ trying!”  _ he sobs, lashing an arm back towards her. “Just  _ stop yelling  _ at me for two  _ fucking seconds _ so I can goddamn  _ breathe! _ ”

Immediately, he wants to take it back--he can already feel his eyes widening in horror almost before all the words are out of his mouth, because oh  _ God _ , what did he  _ do _ \--but before he even has the breath to do so, there’s a hand snapping against his cheek  _ hard _ , and he sucks in a painful breath as the sting sets in.

“Don’t  _ ever _ talk to me like that again, you fucking brat, okay?  _ Ever _ , do you hear me? I can’t  _ believe _ you just did that, I can’t--go to your room, just go, I don’t want to look at you right now. Goddamn  _ baby _ .”

And Tyler’s nodding vigorously even as he hurries back upstairs, apology after apology falling from his lips, nearly at the same rate as tears leaked out of his eyes, one hand clutching at his stinging cheek while the other grabbed a this aching heart.

 

 

_ She hit me _ , Tyler thinks to himself, holding his cheek. It doesn’t really hurt, but it’s burning under his palm and looks red when he looks in the mirror.  _ She hit me.  _

 

 

At the end of the night, it’s Tyler that ends up apologizing to her.

 

 

He knows his mom loves him, he really does. He can tell by the way she hands him his brown bag lunch every morning, and calls him  _ baby _ as he heads off to school. He can tell by the way she congratulates him when he tells her how well the basketball team is doing, can tell by the way she kisses the crown of his head when she thinks he’s still asleep.

(He loves those moments, even as rare as they are--for a brief moment, he feels special again, feels loved and valued by her, and he tries to aggressively replay that moment as he falls asleep for real that night, imagining sweet words and soft praise, a mother’s touch he so rarely gets to feel.)

But the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks he doesn’t love her back.

 

 

( _ Damn her to hell. Damn her to hell. Damn her to hell.) _

 

 

He’s in college the first time he has a panic attack.

He’s just spilled Gatorade on the carpet in his dorm, and even though he knows it’s not a big deal, a problem that’s easily fixed, he finds himself frozen in place, chest heaving, a white-hot series of flashbacks burning, running through his mind so fast he can’t even soak any of them in besides angry voices, furrowed brows, hands on wrists. They hurt.

He sets the bottle back upright with shaking hands and tries to breathe through it, but find he can’t. His throat is constricting on him, making breathing near impossible, heart pounding in his chest.

“Shit,” he hisses to himself, and he doesn’t know why he’s swearing. “Shit, fuck, shit,” and his breaths are getting more labored, his chest starting to hurt a little. He blinks back tears, doesn’t know why they’re there in the first place, but knows he can’t cry, he can’t, he won’t, that never gets him anywhere good, that’s bad bad bad news. Never cry.

_ (The last time he cried he got a hand to his cheek--) _

He sits there, in pain, struggling to breathe for a few solid minutes before he comes down from it, breathing in large, even breaths to get his heartbeat back to normal.  _ It’s okay. It’s okay. Just clean it up. It’s okay. It’s fucking okay. No reason to be a baby about it. _

He cleans it up without much thought after he gets his breathing back to normal. His roommate never even knows it happened.

 

 

Being gay--or having a relationship at all, really--hadn’t been a thought that had ever even crossed his mind, but when a senior guy in his Public Relations class comes up to him one morning and asks him out, he can’t really find a reason to say no.

He’s hot, in a boring, conventional, handsome-white-jock kind of way, and his name (Jason) is equally so, and Tyler wants to laugh at the corniness of it all.

For a little while, he makes things better. 

Tyler hadn’t realized how much he expected insults like  _ stupid, clumsy, awkward, wimp, baby, worthless, ugly  _ from just about everyone, until there was suddenly someone to tell him otherwise. Jason was friendly and easy-going, handing out compliments with ease, and Tyler clung to it like glue--needed his praise and approval to get through his day because without it--without it, there was a suspiciously feminine voice in his head to berate him and knock him down a notch. Without it, the angry voice in his head that’s constantly hammering into him that he’s worthless and a baby and the world would be better off without him would be the only voice he would ever hear because Tyler believed it, believed it because there had never been anyone there to tell him otherwise, but now there was, and he was tall and handsome and Tyler’s  _ boyfriend. _

He’s--actually really happy. The relationship feels kind of shallow, and he’s sure both of them can tell, but when Tyler cooks him dinner or cleans the apartment (Tyler practically lives there, now, it’s just off-campus and he only has one roommate that’s usually out with his girlfriend, anyways), or stays the night to suck Jason’s dick, the glowing praise Jason gives him--telling him that  _ you’re really good at this _ , when it comes to cooking, and  _ you’re such a good boy  _ when Tyler has his mouth wrapped around his cock--well. Tyler’s not complaining.

(Okay, maybe he  _ is  _ too tired some nights to cook a dinner for them, and sometimes his jaw  _ does _ get pretty sore, but those are just tiny details in a much bigger picture.)

So Tyler soaks up his praise it up like a sponge, heart swelling, and for the first time in years he feel almost  _ carefree _ \--because someone likes him! Someone really, actually likes him enough to put up with Tyler’s constant self-deprecating, with his panic attacks, with his terrible social ineptness, and he’s charming and has broad hands and has never raised his voice at Tyler, not once.

Whenever Jason smiles at him, Tyler’s happy, and just a little farther from whatever hell he grew up in.

 

 

It takes Tyler longer than he’d like to admit to realize just how much Jason was changing him.

It was small, constructive criticisms, here and there--so nicely put and in such small ways that Tyler never even noticed them, used to raised voices and insults being a packaged deal with any kind of criticism at all. But it was things like,  _ hey, do you think you could cook a little more next time I’m over? This is, like, really good!  _ or,  _ you own, like, an infinite number of T-shirts, hun. Why don’t you go shopping more? I know some good stores,  _ or  _ damn, babe, you need to go down on me more often _ . And then suddenly Tyler was cooking for him every night and only wearing the clothes Jason thought he looked pretty in and having substantially less orgasms than his boyfriend was having in bed, and--suddenly he felt kind of sick.

“Hey, babe,” Jason greets when Tyler comes back from class--Tyler didn’t invite him into the dorm, but knowing his roommates they probably left the door unlocked. “How was class?”

Tyler shrugs, setting his keys down on the entry table and letting his bag slide off his shoulder. “Fine, I guess.”

Jason huffs out a laugh and holds one of his arms out. “C’mere. I missed you.”

Tyler gives him a half-assed smile, letting it die quickly as he approaches Jason and climbs into bed with him, snuggling into his side. “Missed you too,” he says, but then realizes he doesn’t really mean it. He appreciates having time to himself, honestly.

“Hey,” Jason says, turning a little so he was facing Tyler. “So, a friend of mine and I--remember Scott?--we were talking today, and uh, something came up.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow, sparing him a glance and wondering where he was going with this. “And?”

“And, uh. Well, I guess I’ll just say it. We want to have a threesome. With you. Obviously.”

Tyler turns sharply at that. “ _ What? _ ”

“Oh, come  _ on _ , Ty,” Jason says, turning fully so that both their bodies are facing each other. “It’ll be fun! Don’t be a prude about it. Scott’s really chill, you’ve met him, it’ll be safe, sane and consensual and all that.”

Tyler sulks, murmuring, “I’m the  _ farthest  _ thing from a prude, Jason.” He sighs. “But I just--I mean--a  _ threesome _ , Jason, that’s kind of--much. I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”  _ Especially not with you _ , he doesn’t add.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Come  _ on _ , Tyler. Don’t be a bitch.”

Tyler flinches a little at the harsh word, not having expected that. Jason swore frequently, but never in reference to Tyler before.

His heart begins to hammer at his ribs. 

“I mean… I don’t know, Jase, I don’t think…” and he doesn’t really know what to do, because he suddenly realizes he’s never actually told Jason  _ no  _ before, and didn’t know the consequences that came with that. Would he be mad? Would he start yelling? Insulting Tyler? Tyler wasn’t sure if he could handle that.

He ends up kind of trailing off and Jason stares at him. “Really, Ty? What, can’t handle it?”

Tyler bristles a little. “It’s not that. I just don’t know if I’m comfortable, like. Being that vulnerable in front of someone else. I mean. I don’t know.” he looks down at his hands, which are tugging at the hem of his shirt, nervously.

“ _ Tyler-- _ ”

He wants to tell him no.

“Okay!” he finally says, “Okay, okay, I’ll--I’ll do it. We’ll figure it out, I guess. Just--don’t get crazy or anything, okay? I’m not gonna, like, DP or any of that shit.”

Jason laughs at that, genuinely, but Tyler can’t make himself smile back. “I knew you’d say yes. Thanks, babe.” he swoops down to plant a kiss on Ty’s cheek. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler says, shrugging him off. “Get going, or you’ll be late to class.”

 

 

“Jase,” Tyler says, rubbing his thumb over his boyfriend’s index finger from where they held hands, “I--I don’t think I wanna go through with.. with the thing we’re having with Scott anymore.”

They’re walking back from a dinky little noodle place they had dinner in, mostly hiding their held hands with their bodies in case anyone decided to be a dick about it.

Jason turns to him frowning. “What? Come on, Tyler. I already told him. Now it’ll just be embarrassing if I have to take it back.”

“I know, but I just--I don’t think I can do it.” His palms are starting to feel sweaty, so he removes his hand from Jason’s, shoving it in his pocket instead. He avoids Jason’s eyes--he can feel his gaze on him, staring at him in disbelief. He stares at the ground instead. “I mean--it’s just a sex thing, right? I don’t think we should be fighting over something this dumb.” But fuck, Tyler hates this, because there isn’t love and praise swimming in Jason’s eyes anymore--it’s disbelief, and a little bit of anger, and it suddenly feels all too familiar. Tyler can feel his heartbeat start to speed up again already, under his jacket. 

“Yeah, we shouldn’t be fighting, because I thought we agreed on this,” and shit, shit, Tyler doesn’t like the tone of his voice, this was a bad idea. Shit, he’s so  _ stupid. _

“I--I’m s-sorry, Jase, but I just  _ can’t _ \--I mean, he’ll understand, right?” he looks back up at Jason, and shit, that was a bad idea, because Jason looks angry.

“I don’t care about what Scott thinks,” he says. “Look, Tyler--I really like you. I do. And I think you’re a really great guy, and super talented, and really pretty, but you’re kind of a handful to deal with, you realize that, right? Every time you have a goddamn panic attack it takes five, ten, fifteen minutes out of my day to deal with that. And I have to deal with trying to explain to my friends why you’re so goddamn awkward, tell ‘em it’s because it’s because you’re  _ socially inept _ \--”

“Social anxiety,” Tyler mutters. 

“What the fuck ever. My point is, it isn’t easy being your boyfriend. I give up a lot for you--I don’t understand is why you feel the need to be so difficult over a thing that shouldn’t be a big deal,  _ especially  _ after I thought we already decided on it. It’s one time--one night with a little bit of fun and with all I have to deal with, I honestly don’t think it’d kill you to stop thinking about yourself for one night and just do it! Sex is the only pro to being with you anyways, I don’t see why you need to be a fucking baby about it!”

And--and that’s it, that does it, Tyler starts crying,  right there in the middle of the street, but he’s panicking, stumbling away from Jason because he doesn’t want to get hurt for it,  _ he’s in so much trouble, he’s so sorry, he’s so-- _

“Sorry,” he hiccups before Jason even has time to say anything, unable to meet his eyes. “I--I’m so  _ s-sorry _ , Jase, I’m sorry, I swear to God it’s not you--”  _ it is, it is you, I hate you I hate this I fucking hate this relationship _ , “--but I--oh, God, please--”

“Jesus Christ, Tyler,” Jason is saying, a little softer now but still with a bite to his voice, and grabs Tyler around the arm, meaning to drag them some place more private, but a voice shouts out, “Hey!”

They both turn, and there’s a guy with neon pink hair and a nose piercing jogging across the street to get to them. “What’s going on, here? Are you okay? Is this guy bothering you?”

It takes Tyler a second to realize the guy is looking at  _ him _ \--his sight’s still a bit blurry from the tears in his eyes, and he has to blink it away. “I--yeah, I mean, no, he’s not, he’s fine, but--I just--I just--” and then he’s bursting into tears again, and he’s flushing from embarrassment but he doesn’t know what else to  _ do.  _ (Something briefly rolls through his head about  _ how I don’t know how you’re ever going to make it in the real world, Tyler, you can’t expect to be babied all the time  _ but he violently shoves it out of his mind nearly as soon as it enters.)

“Tyler, Tyler, come on,” Jason’s saying, and the other guy is looking at him with distrust, but Tyler shakes his head, bringing his arms up over his face because he wants to disappear, all he wants to do is  _ disappear _ .

“Jesus Christ, Tyler, this is--this is too much, alright? You’re too much, I can’t deal with this. You’re fucking stressing me out. We’re over, okay? Get fucking Hello Kitty here to walk you home,” and then there’s footsteps walking away.

Tyler doesn’t watch him go--instead, he finds himself sinking to his knees, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, still burying his face in his arms.

“Hey, hey--shh, hey, its okay, it’s okay,” the stranger is saying, crouching down in front of him, and his voice is soothing, but when his hand brushes Tyler’s arm, he flinches back. “Shoot, I’m sorry, man, didn’t mean to scare you.”

The guy seems nice, so Tyler reluctantly pulls one of his arms away from his face to meet eyes with him. He shakes his head, still crying, but the body-wracking sobs mostly subsiding now that the immediate danger is gone. “N-no, it’s okay, I’m just--I’m just being dumb, really, I’m so sorry--”

“Hey, you’re not being dumb. It’s okay. Hey, what’s your name?” The guy goes to gently hold Tyler’s arm again, and this time he doesn’t flinch.

  
“I--uh, T-Tyler,” he says, and hates how he can’t stop stuttering. “I’m Tyler.”

The stranger smiles at him. “Hey, Tyler. I’m Josh. Do you go to the university?” Tyler nods, shakily, rubbing his eyes. “Do you live on campus? Because so do I, and if you want, I  _ can  _ walk you home. It’s pretty late, and you… no offense, but I really wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone like this.”

Tyler rushes in to defend him. “N-no, it’s okay! Really, that--that’d be nice, actually, thanks.” He rubs his eyes, breath finally evening out, shaky as it is. “S-sorry you had to catch me like this, I--I don’t usually get this way--”

“No need to apologize, dude, you’ve obviously had a rough night. Or a rough couple months, if you’ve been dealing with that asshole.” He gestures loosely with his head in the direction that Jason had walked, sending a dark look that way, before it falls from his face and he turns back to Tyler. “Here, take my arm. Let’s get you home.”

He offers his elbow to Tyler, and Tyler huffs a laugh, slipping his arm into his. Old-fashioned. “Thanks. And he’s not that bad, really. I just--it’s embarrassing, actually, but--we weren’t gonna last anyways. I just--I kinda broke down back there.”

Josh is quiet for a moment as they start walking. “I--I don’t want to stick my nose in your business, or whatever, but--but has he ever hurt you? You seemed sort of… wary.”

Tyler blinks. “No,” he says, “no, he never hurt me. We hardly ever fight, actually. It’s not that. I--” he laughs hollowly. “I’m like, damaged, it’s really stupid, honestly.”

Josh looks at him, a little sadly. “Your dad?”

“Mom,” Tyler corrects him. “Like, don’t get me wrong, she’s great and all, and I’m probably just being a baby about it, but--I don’t know. I don’t want to call it abuse, but--it still hurt.” He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “But whatever, I’m being a downer, you probably don’t want to hear about all of my personal shit anyways.”

“No, not at all. You sound like you need to get it out.”

Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Here, how about this,” Josh says, and brings them to a stop as they reach the crosswalk, waiting for the light to go green. He fishes a pen out from one of his pockets and takes Tyler’s arm. “You don’t have to call me if you don’t want to,” he says, scrawling numbers onto the back of Tyler’s hand, “and if you do, it doesn’t have to be romantic thing. But, here’s my number,” he says, and finished writing the last digit, giving Tyler back his hand. “So if you want to call me--to vent, or just to have someone to talk to--I’ll be there, okay? You sound like you need someone, and--and I’d like to help out.”

Tyler blinks, furrowing his brows as he stares down at his hand. “I--thank you. That’s… that’s really nice of you.”

Josh smiles at him, and brings him in for a one-armed hug. “It’s nothing. Now, come on, the light’s green.”

 

 

Tyler does call him, and Josh answers, and they talk, and the same cycle repeats for a number of weeks before Josh goes, “Do you wanna just meet up? We both live on campus and I’m using up all my minutes, man. Cheap data plan.”

And when Josh sneakily goes to hold his hand when they go out for coffee, Tyler doesn’t stop him.


	2. part two: set fire to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes you just gotta set fire to the person you were.

There are times when Tyler daydreams about strangling her.

He hates himself for it-- _ God _ , he hates himself for it, because he knows it’s fucked up and wrong and he’s just being a brat because she wasn’t  _ that _ bad, but. Every time she shoots him down and his breathing starts to come faster and he has to repeatedly tell himself  _ not your fault, not your fault _ he dreams about wrapping his hand around her throat and choking the life out of her just so she would be  _ gone.  _ He’d regret it--he knows he’d regret it, he’d cry and wail and beat himself up and go to jail and get whispered about by family members, but at least she’d be gone. He’d never have to worry about that voice attacking him again, never have to worry about her critiquing his manners and calling him a smartass, a spoiled brat that she swore she never raised.

Tyler dreams about choking his mother to death and sometimes thinks it’d be worth it, because at least then she’d be  _ gone _ .

 

 

In bits and pieces, his panic attacks begin to taper off.

He knows the anxiety stemmed from the tension back home, and after that, from the tension between him and Jason--it was static-y, sensitive silence, the kind that you knew that if it was broken, all kinds of shit would go down. He’s used to constantly being on edge, prepared, paranoid; always waiting for the sound of the garage door opening, a certain pattern of footsteps, a furrow of an eyebrow or a certain tone of voice--and on the few occasions when he let himself go a little, forgot to be paranoid, there was a sharp voice to bring him back to earth with a flutter of his heartbeat and carefully hidden watery eyes.

But now--there’s nothing. Josh’s presence is an easygoing, casual, soft thing, cushioned by a rumbly voice and the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, and Tyler clings to it as best he can without being weird. He  _ needs _ the ability to speak freely without constantly fearing being interrupted, he  _ needs  _ to the soft compliments Josh gives him (so different from Jason’s--so much less sinister and so much more genuine), he needs--he needs not to be stepped on over and over again, he just  _ needs _ Josh like he’s never needed anything before.

And with Josh’s presence, the anxiousness begins to fade away, bit by bit--sometimes returning in sharp jabs after a phone call from his mom, but always in a better place than where he started. 

He’s getting better, he tells himself. He’s getting better.

 

 

“Hey, you okay? You seem a bit distracted.”

Josh is nudging him with his shoulder,  _ 10x10 _ open on his phone but not being played, Yoohoo in hand. Tyler snaps out of whatever daze he’d been in, gazing out the window, and turns to grin at Josh instead, wholeheartedly. “Yeah, I’m great. Just--enjoying the moment, I guess,” he says, and lets his head rest on Josh’s shoulder. For a moment he has a flash of all the times his mom has shrugged him off when he’s tried to show affection like this, muttering his name irritably, and Tyler almost pulls away--but Josh just makes a warm, pleasant sound in affirmation and turns to make them more comfortable.

Tyler stiffens, then relaxes, shoving his nose into Josh’s T-shirt. He could get used to this.

 

 

Being with Josh is changing Tyler, and he’s not sure if it’s for the better or worse.

Josh is amazing, un-worldy, too good to him--giving him everything he could ever need and never asking for anything in return besides his company, always offering easy smiles and broad, warm hands to hold. Tyler is beginning to think he loves him.

But Josh is  _ too  _ good to him--always telling him he has a  _ right  _ to be angry, that it’s not his fault, that  _ none  _ of it was his fault and Tyler wants to believe he doesn’t deserve that, but… he doesn’t. He believes Josh, and suddenly he is so full of  _ anger _ .

He hates her. He hates her, and he hates his dad for letting it happen, and he hates the world for telling her it was okay. He hates her. He  _ hates  _ her.

He begins to write. Furiously, for days, and he writes about killing people and blood on his hands and liking to make people cry, because he’s twisted up inside, and so,  _ so _ angry. 

But it’s not his fault, he tells himself. It never was.

 

 

He isn’t sure when exactly they start dating, but they do. 

Tyler still isn’t sure what Josh sees in him, but he won’t complain as long as he can keep the guy around. His presence is so warm and welcoming, and Tyler hadn’t realized it, but he guesses he’s a little touch-starved for affection of the non-sexual nature, needing hugs and hand-holding without having to keep an eye on the person holding him for fear of repercussions.

Josh is more than warm hands and a heartbeat. He’s dry, innocent humor and ten million different 8tracks playlists, he’s cat fur on sweaters and a hard, fast angry drumbeat. 

Josh doesn’t talk much about his home life, and for some reason Tyler doesn’t think he’d want him to ask. When Tyler’s angry about something, there’s a look in Josh’s eyes that says he understands. On what level, he doesn’t know, but he feels like he has a kindred spirit in Josh. A fellow soldier, someone to stand in unity with no matter what kind of war unfolds. Josh has been there, Josh has been through it all, and even though he’d only twenty-one and still sort of innocent there’s a wisdom in his eyes Tyler would never question. 

 

 

Sex with Josh is hard, fast, and sweaty, and Tyler wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

“I can’t confront her about it,” Tyler is trying to explain to him, panicked, chest heaving. “I just--I  _ can’t!  _ Do you know where that would get me? She’d just--she’d turn it all around so it’d be all on me,  _ just  _ me, it’s always me! My fault, she’s never--she’s never to blame, she’s my  _ mother _ , she--she’ll have power over me no matter what, I can’t, Joshie, I  _ can’t _ \--”

“Shh, shh,” Josh is saying, tugging him close into a hug and tucking his head securely under his chin, and Tyler is just  _ sobbing  _ into his neck, fingers clutching desperately at the collar of his thin T-shirt, grasping. “Then you won’t. Sometimes it just can’t happen.”

And then Tyler  _ panics _ , really panics, seizes up and thrashes half in Josh’s lap, struggling desperately but he doesn’t know against what. “ _ But I can’t keep doing this! _ I can’t! I’m gonna  _ die  _ if I have to keep doing this, Joshie, I can’t…” 

And Josh just holds him, says, “No, you won’t. You’ll keep living. And she’ll never know.”

 

 

Life goes on, stopping for nobody.

College almost seems like a side-story to Josh and his entrance into his life. He’s perfect and has wide smiles and he  _ understands _ and sometimes, Tyler doesn’t think he could be happier.

 

 

“Hey Josh,” Tyler pipes up, frowning at his Linguistics homework. “Do you ever… like, sort of get caught between wanting to live for someone and wanting to die for them?”

Josh laughs. “Isn’t that how you feel about everyone you love?”

Tyler huffs a laugh, then suddenly sobers. “Yeah, well. I think--I think that’s how I feel about my mom, sometimes.”

He looks up, and Josh is smiling at him, fondly. “You gotta stop thinking about your mom, dude.”

 

 

  
Later, when they’re rutting against each other on Tyler’s bed and gasping into each other’s mouths, neither of them hear Tyler’s cell buzz against the carpet.


	3. part three: so let's move on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's to the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the third and (FINALLY) final installment. also i should mention i havent really been in touch with the 21p fandom or the band for the last few months so idk if thatll show up at all in my writing but just keep in mind i started this like a year ago so

“You know, you don’t have to go back home if you don’t wanna.”

“I’ll be fine, Josh,” Tyler murmurs, resting his head comfortably on Josh’s shoulder, picking at the stray threads of his sweater. “It’s just for a week. If I can get through eighteen years of her, I can survive another week.”

Josh sighs. Tyler can feel his warm breath ghost over his face. “Alright, angel. But call me if you ever feel like you need to, okay?”

Tyler tucks his nose into Josh’s neck and breathes in. He smells like aftershave and something else unique to him, something warm and dry and safe. “I will,” he says. “Just promise me you’ll pick up.”

 

 

It’s not the first time he’s been home since he started college--he went home for Christmas break. He spends the entire bus ride (about two hours, with three transfers) home dreading it, but when his mom opens the door to him--he always forgets he’s taller than her, now, when he stands up straight, has been for a while--he’s not nearly as anxious as he thought he’d be.

“Hey, Mom,” he says, and leans in for a side hug, hefting a bag of his stuff up on his other shoulder. His mom smiles, returns the gesture.

“Hey, baby, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he lies through his teeth, and tries not to be too stiff when he pulls away.

 

 

Things are okay for a few days--he catches up with his parents and Zack and Jay and Maddie, watches movies with them, plays basketball with the boys and braids Maddie’s hair every morning--it’s nice. He had almost forgotten he missed them, too.

But every moment he spends with his parents, making small talk with his dad and enduring Downton Abbey with his mom, he begins to worry that he isn’t selling his fake smiles well enough, and is already preparing to explain himself for when one of them accuses him of striking an attitude with them.

They never do.

 

 

The peace doesn’t last for long.

He’s sleeping in on the fourth day home, when his mom barges in, and immediately goes on the offensive. 

“Tyler, baby, when are yo--Jesus Christ, Tyler, it’s a mess in here, it’s only been a few days! Fucking clean up this mess, okay? Are these clothes clean or dirty?”

He’d shot into a sitting position with wide eyes when he heard his door slam open, but he’s still half-asleep, brain struggling to catch up with all the sudden activity. “I--I don’t--what--I don’t know,” he finishes lamely, barely remembering what she had even asked him, heart hammering in his chest and head still reeling from sleep.

“Well then put them in your goddamn hamper! Jesus, Tyler, I really hope this isn’t how you keep up your dorm, your roommates must think you’re filthy. Clean this up,” she demands, and walks away.

It’s only when she’s safely downstairs does he realize he’s started hyperventilating, chest aching with every struggled inhale, never feeling like he’s getting enough air, and shit what the fuck, why was his vision blurry?

“Shit,” he swears quietly, wiping hurriedly at his eyes and trying to even his breathing. Jesus, this was so fucking stupid, why does he have to cry over  _ everything _ . “Stupid,” he mutters to himself, pressing his hands to his face. They’re shaking.

Over breakfast, he can hardly meet her eyes, even when she babbles about suburban mom nonsense like she does every morning. He knows she’s already forgotten about it.

 

 

“I just--shit, I don’t know if I can talk about this here, I’m worried she’ll walk in and hear everything and--”

“ _ Do you want to text instead _ ?”

“No--no, I want to hear you. I need to hear you. I just need--I don’t know. I wish you were here. I need--” the word  _ protection _ suddenly jumps into his head. “I need to feel safe.”

“ _ I’m sorry, Ty. I wish I could be there, too. _ ” A pause. “ _ Has she hurt you yet? _ ”

“What? No, it’s not--it’s not. I’m just--honestly, nothing’s hardly happened, she just--she yelled at me this morning for not keeping my room clean and I’m being a pissbaby about it. I mean, everybody’s mom does that, right?”

“ _ No, Tyler. They don’t. _ ”

That shocks Tyler quiet for a few moments, but he pulls himself together quickly. “Well--it doesn’t matter anyways. I’m being dumb, honestly, don’t worry about it.”

“ _ You’re not dumb, Ty. _ ”

“I know, I know, I didn’t mean that. I’m fine. It’s just--wow, you know, I really forgot exactly how much I don’t love her. Even when we’re being nice, and everything’s calm, it’s just--fake. I’m faking every minute of it. I can’t wait to get out of her, I don’t know, her presence, I guess. I can’t relax around her. I feel bad, she’s so sweet sometimes. But--I can’t explain it, it just makes me hate her more, I don’t even know why.”

“ _ You have plenty of reasons to hate her, Ty _ .  _ You know why _ .”

 

 

He still dreams about killing her.

He dreams less about strangling her, now, and instead of more plausible endings--going on a hike with her, and not helping when she slips down the cliff. Giving her a light push down the stairs. It would be so easy. No one would ever know.

He could never do it, but he finds some solace in imagining it.

 

 

She’s yelling at Maddie--he doesn’t even know about what--when he doesn’t know  _ what  _ gets into him, but he’s suddenly going “Mom, stop it.”

She turns sharply to him, and goes, “Stay out of this, Tyler,” all bite and sting in her words. He flinches out of reflex, but he’s staring at Maddie’s trembling lips and he can’t  _ stop  _ himself.

“Mom, I’m serious, you’re making her cry--”

“Tyler, I said, stay the  _ fuck _ out of this, okay?”

“No, Mom, please, just once, can you--”

She turns towards him again, taking one step closer, and Tyler takes one step back out of instinct. “Tyler, I  _ fucking mean it,  _ you better shut your mouth right now and head straight to your room and  _ keep out of this,  _ just because you think you’re some college hotshot now doesn’t mean you can disrespect me like this all of a sudden, okay? So shut the fuck up  _ right now _ , and go to your room.”

And it’s hard--it’s  _ so  _ hard, because every instinct in his body is screaming  _ danger! danger!  _ at him in bright red letters, and he wants so badly to simply submit and apologize and back up while he still can, keep himself as safe as he’ll ever be able to, but he can’t. He knows he won’t win, and he knows this won’t end well, but he just--can’t.

So he simply shakes his head, and says, “You can’t keep doing this, Mom.”

Apparently that was the last straw for her, because she marches over, Maddie all but forgotten, grabs his arm and drags him down the hall to his room and Tyler--he’s stronger than her, knows he could pull away if he really tried, but she’s still his mother and he just can’t force himself to fight her physically so he lets her, tripping over his own feet in her hurried pace.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Tyler,” she’s saying as they march up the stairs, “But you’re acting  _ completely  _ out of line and like an utter brat, so you’re going to get treated like one.”

“Mom, what--”

She pushes him aggressively into his room, and he barely has his footing when there’s a hand smacking into his cheekbone  _ hard _ , and he wails, stumbling.

“I don’t care how old you are, or what fancy schooling you’re getting, I’m still your mother and you will  _ do what I fucking tell you _ , okay? Alright? Can you get that through you’re spoiled brat brain?” --and shit, fuck, he’s bawling now, he doesn’t even know when he started, and god _ damn _ if he isn’t sick of this happening over and over again. “And stop painting me as the enemy here, okay, you’re being a  _ brat _ about all this, for God’s sake, you’ve  _ always  _ been a baby about shit like this, you need to learn to deal with not being right all the time!”

And--god _ dammit _ , he wants to yell, wants to scream back so badly, but all of his bravado seems to have gone into his back-sassing downstairs, and now he’s sobbing on his bedroom floor with a stinging cheek and in deeper shit with his mom than he’s been in in years and he doesn’t even know where to start picking up the pieces.

“Tyler,” she says, and it’s softer this time, so he looks up hesitantly, not even realizing he’d been covering his face with his arms protectively. “Jesus, stop with the crying, you’re eighteen, you’re better than that. Just don’t talk back to me like that again.”

He’s nodding, hurriedly, secretly relieved that that’s the worst he’s going to get for now, and then just like that, she’s gone again.

 

 

“Let’s run away.”

“ _ Tyler, what? What are you-- _ ”

“Let’s--let’s just--I mean, we can finish up this last quarter here, but, after that--let’s run away. Go across the country, to some nondescript tiny town, just, fuck, I don’t know, rent some shitty studio apartment and work minimum wage jobs and maybe starve a little but it’ll be okay, it’ll be better than now, you know? Because it’ll be just us, and--and no one--no can hurt us, no one will even know we’re there--and no one can stop us because we’re adults now, and, and--”

“ _ Shh, Tyler, slow down, babe. Breathe. Are you okay right now? Are you safe?” _

Tyler laughs hollowly, because when has he ever. “No,” he huffs. “I fucked up so bad, she hates me so much, I haven’t done something like this since, shit, seventh grade or something,  _ shit _ ,” and he’s hyperventilating again. “Please come get me, please, I’ll--I’ll meet you at the Park & Ride-- _ shit _ , she’s gonna be so pissed, aha--”

“ _ Tyler, please, baby, slow down, you aren’t thinking straight _ \--”

“I don’t want to think straight,” he cuts in suddenly. “Thinking straight--that means being scared, that means letting her yell at me, that means--no, I’m not, I won’t. I want to be reckless. Fuck everything else--actually--” and he pauses.

He has a razor blade in his bathroom, and it would be a hell of a wakeup call for his mom if she found him bleeding out on the tile floors. And he imagines it, vividly, morbidly, for a second--himself unconscious on the bathroom floor with blood flooding out of his arms in ruby rivulets, razor blade in hand, his mom calling 911 over his limp body.

But somehow, in the end, he knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

“Nevermind,” he mutters, and for the second time that evening, all his bravado disappears. “I--nevermind. You’re right, I’m not thinking straight. I’m just going to go to sleep now, okay?”

“ _I--Tyler, are you_ sure  _you’re alright?_ ”

He laughs hollowly again. “Of course I’m not. But neither of us can do anything about that.”

 

 

It’s quiet between them all the next day. 

Tyler spends most of it cleaning his room.

 

 

As soon as Joshua’s in his sight, three days later, when Tyler’s moved back into his dorm, he runs towards him and embraces him as tightly as he can, squeezing tightly around his torso and relaxing immensely when muscular arms return the gesture. “I missed you  _ so much _ ,” he almost sobs, and can’t believe how much he means it.

Josh hooks his chin over Tyler’s shoulder and sighs contentedly, rubbing up and down his back. “I missed you too, Ty, you have no idea.”

Tyler giggles when Josh picks him up and spins him in a circle, tucking himself in even closer to Josh once he sets him back down. 

“Don’t let go of me,” he says into Josh’s T-shirt. Josh’s only answer is broad hands sweeping over his shoulder blades.

 

 

“I like it when you play with my hair,” Tyler sighs, his head in Josh’s lap as they both lay in Josh’s bed, the elder’s fingers stroking through his thick locks. 

Josh laughs. “Yeah?”

Tyler smiles, eyes still closed. “Yeah. It reminds me--when I was real little, and my mom didn’t get angry as much--she’d let me sleep in her and papa’s bed, when I had nightmares, and she’d stroke my hair like this.” He has to take a deep breath to stop himself from getting teary. “She used to say I would help her sleep, just by being in the same bed. Her little angel.” He opens his eyes, and finds the room around him blurry. “I miss that.”

Josh’s fingers pause in his hair. “I’m so sorry, Tyler.”

A tear rolls down Tyler’s cheek, and he rushes to wipe it away. “I want that back. I want--I want a real mama, you know? I want a mama that’s real sweet, and will kiss away my booboos, and cuddle me, and tell me it’s okay when I mess up instead of yelling at me. I want a mama that will hold me when I cry, not hit me. I want a mama that will accept my apologies,  _ really  _ accept them, so I don’t end up feeling worse than I did before, you know? I never really had  _ all  _ of that, but--I still miss it.” Tears are rolling down his face more freely now, and he doesn’t bother to wipe these ones away. “She used to sing me to sleep.”

“ _ Tyler _ ,” Josh says, more urgently this time, and Tyler shuts up. “you  _ know _ I can’t substitute for your mom, right?”

Tyler laughs at the absurdity of the comment. “Yeah, I know, Joshie. I don’t expect you to. I just--wanted to say it.”

“Okay,” Josh says, and then resumes combing his fingers through Tyler hair, and the younger lets his eyes fall shut. “Hey,” he says a moment later, and Tyler blinks them open again. “You know I love you, right? And that you’re perfect just the way you are, and you didn’t deserve to be treated the way you were?”  
  
“Yeah,” Tyler says, staring at the door of Josh’s apartment. Josh was going to make him his own key, soon. He thinks about moving in here with Josh, finishing school with him, and then moving somewhere else. Across the country, maybe. Maybe to California. Maybe to Europe. Making new friends and leaving his life here far, far behind. Tyler smiles. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there it is guys... the Actual Final conclusion. im sorry it took so long, and idek if it wrapped up well, but i was trying to keep it as realistic as possible and not everything has a neat and tidy ending. but thanks so much for reading anyways ahhhh i love you guys so much <333333 i know i don't always reply to comments bc honestly im rly busy but pls know i read them all and they all mean so much to me. thank you, truly. <3

**Author's Note:**

> i'd also like to say i typically hate the "oh noo the poor troubled protagonist gets saved by a knight in shining armor hoo-fucking-rah" but josh has always struck me as the kind of guy who wouldn't do it to "save" anyone, y'know? he just cares about people. anyways, please comment below, my lovelies.


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